Heritage
by lightrider86
Summary: An old friend is in trouble and Neal has to find a way to help her. No slash, mild language, just a good old case fic. A few OC's from Neal's past, but I've kept as close to canon as I could.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first fanfic and the first piece of writing I've done in a few years. This idea popped into my head about a month ago and just wouldn't leave me alone. The story starts with a young Neal (Nico) and will progress from there. **

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine, everything else is. **

1985 – Palermo, Sicily 

Carlo leaned his forehead against the locked door and sighed. It had been a long day. Up before dawn to haggle with the fishermen over prices of the fish he wanted, Carlo had spent the rest of the day in his small restaurant, serving locals and tourists their meals. It was after midnight and his last guests had just walked out the door. Marla, his wife, had stayed up with him, leaving only to run upstairs to their apartment to check on their sleeping son, Dominico. Sometimes it was nice to live above the restaurant. The convenience of the situation had long since made itself known.

"Caro mio," Marla said, startling Carlo. "Are you coming up to bed or would you like me to put a pillow on the door?" Marla was a slight woman with large, laughing blue eyes, a head of unruly chestnut curls, and a blindingly beautiful smile.

"Carlo?"

"Si, il mio amore, I'm coming. Just finishing locking up – I thought those people would never leave! Is Dominico still asleep?"

"Si, Nico still sleeps. And we should too."

Carlo went to his wife and pulled her into his arms. Marla kissed her husband and then nestled into him arms, head tucked under his chin. The radio was still on and a popular Italian love song was playing. Carlo and Marla swayed to the music, eyes closed, their love for one another evident. Neither heard their small son come down the stairs and into the room.

"Mama? Papa?" Dominico said, teddy bear in hand. "Paulo is thirsty," he said holding the stuffed animal up for his mother to see.

Marla smiled and walked to her son. "Paulo is thirsty? Well, let's get him some water then. Would you like a glass too, il mi cuore?"

"Si, per favore, Mama." Dominico smiled and scrambled up on a chair, Paulo the bear firmly in hand. Carlo smiled at his son. Born to the couple six years ago, Dominico looked more like his mother every day. His eyes were the same shade of blue, his hair the same unruly brown mass, and his smile, well, his smile was already getting him into trouble. Dominico had all of their neighbors wrapped around his little finger and had recently begun to charm the tourists who ate at his father's restaurant. Dominico, or Nico as people called him now, was the light of his father's life and everyone knew it. Carlo was walking over to his son when the front door crashed open.

Carlo whipped around and was confronted with three men, all carrying guns. His face blank for a moment with the shock, Carlo quickly recovered and pulled out the smile he usually reserved for difficult tourists.

"Pietro, Angelo, Diego. I'm sorry, but I've just closed up for the night." Carlo said.

For a moment, the three goons didn't say anything. They just stood there, guns raised, smirks on their faces. Finally, Diego spoke.

"As good as your lasagna is, Carlo, we are here for something else. Seems like you owe the Boss some money. We're here to collect."

Carlo winced and said, "Diego, I know I owe Senor Rossi money. I was going to come talk to him tomorrow afternoon. It's been slow here lately. It is the off-season and there aren't as many tourists. I don't…"

Diego cut him off. "Save it, Carlo. We've heard it before and the Boss doesn't care. If you hadn't been late last month too, we wouldn't be here. Or maybe we would. You are, after all, a Mancini. You're lucky the Boss let you buy the restaurant in the first place. You know how the Rossi Family and the Mancini Family feel about each other."

"Yes, I know. But I'm the 7th son of a 7th son and so far removed from the family business, I'm no threat. I want nothing to do with my father and my brothers. Mr. Rossi knows this and I've never given him reason to think otherwise."

"Yeah, that was true for awhile," Angelo sneered. "We had bigger pest problems than you when you first came to the Boss. Plus, we needed someone to run this place. But now, the Boss's nephew and his wife are in town and they need a place to live. So the Boss decided they could have your home."

Carlo paled. "My home? You're here to take my home? But…but…you can't do that! Where are we going to go?"

Diego stepped forward, gun still pointed at Carlo, and pulled the trigger. "Doesn't matter anymore," he said with a laugh.

Marla, who had been quiet since the three men broke in, screamed and ran toward her bleeding husband. "Carlo! Carlo! No!" She fell to her knees and cradled the dead man's head in her lap. "You animals," she screamed through her tears. "We…"

A second shot rang out, abruptly silencing the cry.

Diego looked at Angelo. Angelo looked blankly back.

"I can't stand it when women cry," was all Angelo offered. Diego stared a moment longer before looking back at the dead woman. That's when he noticed Dominico. He had silently moved from his chair across the room to where his parents now lay on the floor. He hadn't made a sound when either of his parents were killed and now just stood over them, shaking. Angelo swore and raised his gun again. Dominico raised his tear-filled blue eyes

"No," snapped Diego, pushing Angelo's arm down. "The Boss said not to touch the kid. He can be useful in our American operations."

Dominico raised his tear-filled blue eyes and stared hopelessly at the men.

Angelo shrugged and lowered his gun.

Diego told Angelo and Pietro to clean up the mess and then turned back to the silent boy. "You belong to the Boss now, you hear? Don't make any trouble and do what you're told to do, no questions asked." He then grabbed Dominico, slung him over his shoulder, and walked out into the night.

Dominico Mancini left Italy that night on a plane bound for Miami.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

August 1990 – Miami, Florida

The night oozed humidity. There was no wind and the oppressive heat of the day was still draped over everything. In this part of town, nothing moved, but not because of the heat. Anything or anyone who wanted to stay alive knew that it was a bad idea to be caught out after dark in this neighborhood unless you were part of the crew. Drug runners and errand boys for the Sicilians sometimes slipped in and out of the shadows until they reached the large warehouse but even they tried to be inside before dark fell.

All but one. Dressed in black and as thin as a shadow, he owned the night. Slipping from shadow to shadow, the boy was invisible. Years of practice had made him the best, even at 13, and he knew it. Not that he'd brag about it. No, the consequences of that would be terrible. Much better to stay silent and just do his job.

_Speaking of which_, the boy thought. _I'd better get inside before Mario gets the wrong idea. _The boy knew that the front doors were locked at dark and weren't opened for anyone. This was just another incentive to be back inside. You only had to spend one night alone outside in the dark with no food and nowhere to sleep before you decided that inside the warehouse was a much better place to be. At least there you got a corner with a blanket or two and something that passed for a meal.

The boy's errand had taken longer than he thought it would. _Didn't count on that extra alarm, _he thought. _Oh well, I have the piece, that's what matters. _The boy ran along the side of the warehouse, keeping to the comfort of the shadows. He silently climbed over the chain-link fence in the back and dropped into the shadows behind the warehouse. He paused and scanned the area to make sure that he was alone before he squatted and began to tap on the side of the building.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap.

After a moment a low voice whispered, "Nico? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Adam, let me in."

There was a moment of nothing. Then a small flap in the side of the warehouse was opened, allowing Nico to slip into the building. Nico grinned as his friend, his smile Cheshire cat like in the darkness.

"We're going to have to make that door bigger soon, Adam. Not for me, you understand. I could slip through anything. It's you I'm worried about. One of these days you'll be out late and you're going to get stuck trying to sneak back in. I can just see it now: head and shoulders in and the rest of you flailing about outside!" Nico stifled a laugh at the mental imagery.

"Unlike you, Dominico," Adam whispered using Nico's full name. "I'm smart enough to get things done before they lock the front door. You know, it's much easier that way. Plus you get an actual meal that way, not the scraps we can sometimes save for you. Might want to try that sometime."

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, you're only back before dark because they know you're not smart enough to take on the really hard stuff. That's why they give it to me, you big ox!" Nico playfully elbowed his friend in the side.

"Shut up, both of you!" hissed a new voice. A girl stepped out of the shadows behind Adam. "Dominico, Adam's right. You can't keep sneaking in after lock down – Mario is going to notice sooner or later and then you know that there's going to be hell to pay!"

"Mina! I'm shocked, I didn't know you cared!" Nico grinned.

"I don't, you big dummy. But if Mario gets mad at you, then the rest of us suffer too. Besides, I don't want him finding out about our back door." Mina said, taking a step closer to Nico. She spoke with a smile, however, and Nico and Adam both knew that, despite her words, she really did care.

"Yeah, you big dummy!" Adam said as he punched Nico in the arm.

Both boys started to play fight, but soon stopped for fear of being discovered by the hole they had created. Not that they'd admit their fear to each other, but they both had seen what had happened to those that had tried to escape from their Sicilian keepers. Adam and Mina closed the hole in the back of the building and then the three quietly snuck back to the area of the warehouse that was considered "in-bounds" for the kids.

There were five beds in the little area, all of which currently had owners. Nico, Adam, and Mina's beds were pushed together on one side of the area and the other two beds were on the other side. These were occupied by two older girls from somewhere in Russia who didn't speak a lot of English. Adam and Mina didn't speak any Russian so, when Nico was out on a run, the four didn't talk much to one another. Nico didn't speak much Russian either, but he was rapidly learning from the girls who were more than eager to teach him.

Adam was two years older than Nico, four inches taller, and twenty pounds heavier. He was from somewhere in Spain, but wouldn't say where. Adam wasn't his real name. When Nico first met him, Adam wouldn't say much of anything. So, not knowing what else to call him, Nico just went with 'Adam.' Adam seemed to accept the moniker. When he later asked Nico why he chose Adam, Nico just answered, "Well, I didn't know what else to call you, and as you were the first guy here, I figured Adam was appropriate."

Adam was tightlipped about his past; he never disclosed how long he'd been under the Sicilian's control, nor did he say much about his life before. Nico didn't press, partly because he didn't want to have to answer questions about his past, and partly because he'd been kept almost totally isolated for a few years after leaving Italy. By the time Nico was dumped in Miami, he was so eager for someone's company that he didn't question Adam too much. That was a few years ago and, in the interim, Nico and Adam had become friends.

Mina was the next addition to the Sicilian's errand-running squad. She was a year older than Nico and a year younger than Adam and, like Nico, from Italy. Unlike the boys, she wasn't so reluctant to talk about her past – she just couldn't remember much of it. Her parents had died in a car crash when she was four. Some relatives had taken her in, but had quickly decided that another mouth to feed wasn't worth the measly inheritance that Mina's parents left her. They'd kicked her to the curb after a year or two, sans inheritance, and she lived on the street until a man had asked if she wanted a job. She'd been "running errands" for the man ever since.

The Sicilians had quickly figured out that kids, especially orphans, were great for running whatever kind of errands (legal and illegal) they needed. No one looked twice at a kid with a backpack (and a backpack held a lot of dope). The kids were given three meals a day, a place to sleep, and some clothes in exchange for their services. And, if a kid got caught, well, they were expendable. Simple threats were enough to keep the kids in check. It was the perfect set up. None of the kids liked working for the Sicilians, but it was better than living on the streets.

"Nico, did you get it?" Mina asked. They weren't supposed to talk about their errands, but it had become something of a friendly competition between the three friends.

"Yeah, I did. Piece of cake. You would think these people would have more security around their winter homes." Nico smiled. He had been sent to retrieve a rather beautiful and stolen piece – Rembrandt' _Self-Portrait_ from the vacation home of a wealthy elderly couple. "Why would anyone just leave a recently stolen piece in plain view while they aren't at home?" Nico mused. "It serves them right! The real crime would have been to leave it where it was. Now it can be appreciated by those who really care."

Adam looked at Nico in disbelief. "They had the Rembrandt in plain sight? They did know that it was from the Gardner theft in March, right?" On March 18th the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston was robbed. The thieves waltzed right in and took some priceless works of art right off the wall. The majority of the works taken were by Rembrandt or Degas, but a Vermeer and a Manet were also snatched. The majority of the works were still too hot to fence, but the Sicilians had connections and were being paid a lot of money for the Rembrandt Nico had taken earlier that evening.

"It wasn't exactly in plain sight." Nico said quietly, not offering any more details.

"Can I see it?" Adam asked. Nico hesitated for a moment before he reached into the messenger bag he was carrying and pulled out a small box. The etching was small, only 1 ¾ x 2 inches, but it was beautiful. Nico, Adam, and Mina all stared at it for a few moments in silence. They loved art and to be in the presence of a such a work – a REMBRANDT for God's sake – left them speechless in awe.

After a few moments, Nico closed the lid of the box and tucked his prize safely back into his bag. "I'd better get this to Mario," he said as he walked away from his friends.

Nico knocked on the door of Mario's office and waited to be acknowledged.

"Che cosa?" growled a voice. Nico opened the door and stepped into Mario's office with a cheeky grin.

"Nico, you have the item we sent you for?" Mario asked. Nico nodded and pulled out the small box containing the Rembrandt. "Good," Mario said as he took the box from Nico. "Any problems?"

"Do I ever have any problems?" Nico retorted before he could stop himself. Mario raised an eyebrow and Nico looked away. "No, no problems," he said again, more quietly. "There was a secondary alarm, but I didn't trip it. It should be weeks before they find out that anything was taken."

"Was there anything else worth grabbing?" Mario asked the boy.

"No. Nope. Nada. Nothing. The Rembrandt was the only thing they had in the safe." Nico lied. The safe contained a rather beautiful emerald necklace and earring set and a couple of bundles of cash in addition to the Rembrandt, but there was no reason to tell Mario that. The Rembrandt was stolen and therefore not rightfully theirs, so they couldn't call the cops about the theft unless they wanted to answer a lot of difficult questions. The jewelry was real and probably something that had been in the family for a while. Nico shied away from taking things that had a great deal of personal meaning. Art was one thing, but jewels were another. Besides, if Nico had taken either of the other items, the police would definitely have been called. Not that Mario thought about any of that when he asked if there was anything else to take. He just wanted to squeeze the most profit out of every job that he could, no matter the consequences.

Mario was about to say something when another man burst into his office.

"Boss, we got a problem," said the newcomer, out of breath. "Somebody tipped the Feds that we was here. They're on their way and we gotta get out a here!"

"Nico, leave, now." Mario snapped. "Go back to your bed and wait there. Don't say a word." Nico nodded and slipped out of the office, shutting the door behind him. Nico, however, didn't go back to his friends. He was somewhat alarmed that the Feds might be closing in. He crouched in the shadows next to the door and listened to the conversation inside the office.

"Boss, Franco said that he heard the Feds talking about moving in on us tonight."

"I knew having an agent in our pocket would pay off. Well, we've got to go then. Tell Johnny and Paul to pack up everything they can in the van and beat it. We'll meet them at the safe house. You get the money from the safe and grab the girls. I'll meet you at the car."

"What about the other kids?"

"They're expendable. I'll take care of it. Just go! We probably don't have much time."

Nico jumped up and ran back to his friends. He knew what "expendable" meant. He'd seen it often enough.

Adam and Mina were laughing, but they stopped once they saw Nico running toward them.

"We've got to go, _now_," Nico said. The Feds are on their way and Mario is not planning on throwing them a welcome party. We've got to be gone before he gets back here." Adam and Mina knew what Nico was talking about. They'd talked about what to do if they were ever faced with this situation. "Take only what you can put in your packs," Nico whispered. "I'm going to talk to the girls, try to get them to understand."

Nico rushed over to the Russians, who knew that something was wrong. "We've got to go," stumbled Nico in broken Russian, desperately trying to make himself understood. The girls didn't understand everything Nico was trying to say, but they knew that something was wrong. They got up and followed Nico back to the hole at the back of the warehouse where Mina and Adam were already waiting.

Adam pulled back the boards and slipped into the night air, followed by Mina. Neal threw his pack through the hole and was helping one of the Russian girls when he heard Mario shouting. Nico looked back and locked eyes with Mario.

They hadn't bothered to conceal the hole from the rest of the warehouse like they normally did.

Two shots rang out and the girl that Nico had been helping slumped in his arms. Adam and Mina, hearing the shots, pulled the girl through the opening. Nico turned back for the other girl and saw her glassy eyes staring back at him. She was dead. Nico gulped and remember the last time he'd seen someone shot in front of him.

Another shot echoed in the warehouse. Nico felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. By this time Adam and Mina were screaming at him to c'mon already. Nico shimmied through the hole and into the night before Mario could get another shot off. The first girl was lying on her side next to the building.

"She's gone, Nico. Let's get out of here before Mario finishes the job. You can't help her anymore!" said Adam, pushing Nico away from the building. "Run!"

Mina, Adam, and Nico sprinted away from the building. They heard sirens in the distance. _The Feds would be too late, but at least the Russian girls would get a decent burial_. Nico thought.

They were 10 blocks away before the adrenaline faded and the trio stopped running. Nico suddenly stumbled and fell against Adam, knocking them both to the ground.

"Nico, watch it, man!" Adam grumbled, picking himself up. Nico moaned and didn't get up as quickly. With concern, Adam watched his friend stand up. He was paler than normal and swayed a bit. Then Adam noticed the blood dripping down Nico's left hand. "Nico? What happened? Is that your blood?"

Nico grimaced and nodded. "I think Mario got me," he said before collapsing to his knees.

"Mina, help me here!" Adam said as he rushed to his friend. "C'mon Nico, I know a guy that can help you, but you have to help us get you there. It isn't that much further." Adam draped Nico's good arm over Mina's shoulders and then offered his support on Nico's left side, careful not to cause his friend any unnecessary pain.

Five blocks later Adam knocked on the front door of an abandoned building. Mina looked at him curiously.

"You have a friend who lives here?" she asked. "You've never said anything about it."

"I haven't said a lot about a lot, Mina. He's a friend, yes. He asked that I not talk about him with anyone and so I haven't. He's more than a little paranoid but he's got a good heart. He'll help Nico."

Just then, a quiet voice came from behind the door. "I heard a mockingbird in the park today," it whispered.

Adam whispered back, "It was red. Really red and in need of help."

The door opened immediately and a short man in glasses peered out of the darkness. "Adam? What's wrong? Who are they? Did anyone follow you?"

Nico groaned and slumped against Adam.

"Look, Mozzie, we really need help. Things went south fast and I didn't know where else to go. We weren't followed and these are friends, one of whom was shot. Can we please come in?" Adam asked, growing impatient.

Mozzie hesitated and then stepped back to let them enter. "Put him on the couch. I'll call Ricky. Where was he hit?"

"Left shoulder, I think."

Two hours later, Nico was sleeping on the couch. Mario's bullet had grazed the top of his shoulder, causing a lot of blood but not much damage. Mozzie thanked Ricky, who packed up his med kit and left as silently as he had come. Then Mozzie turned to Adam.

"Okay, give, man. What happened?"

Adam glanced at Mina before telling Mozzie everything that had happened that night.

The next morning Nico awoke in confusion. He kept silent and still, not wanting to alert anyone that he was awake. There was a short man sitting at the table across from him drinking coffee and studying a chessboard. Nico supposed the man was around 20, but the premature balding and the glasses made him look 10 years older.

"Adam tells me you've got quick fingers. That true?" The man asked without looking at Nico.

_How'd he know that I was awake?_ Nico thought. _I didn't make a sound or move or anything!_

"You're breathing changed. That's how I knew you were awake. How's the shoulder? Ricky said you might be sore for a few days but there won't be any serious damage."

Nico paused when it seemed like the man had read his thoughts. "I'm fine. Where am I?" he asked cautiously. "Who are you?"

The man turned to face him. "You can call me Mozzie. Adam and I go way back. He and Mina went out to see if they could find anything about your Italian friends."

Nico sat up slowly. "They weren't my friends. I don't ever want to see those men again." Nico moved over to the table and sat down. "My name's Dominico, but my friends call me Nico."

Mozzie nodded and went back to studying the board. Nico looked briefly at the board before grabbing the pencil and notebook sitting on the end of the table and beginning to sketch. Mozzie, lost in thought, didn't notice the minor theft until he reached for the notebook. He looked up and saw that Nico had it.

"Hey! What are you doing? I was using that." Mozzie said.

"Fine, calm down. Didn't know it was a big deal. Here, take it."

Nico was about to tear out the page he'd been doodling on when Mozzie stopped him. Mozzie looked at the drawing on the page and then back at Nico. It was a drawing of Mozzie studying the chessboard from Nico's perspective.

"Kid, you've got talent. What else can you draw?"

"Anything that I can see," Nico said, pride creeping into his voice. "I usually do better if I can draw what I see right in front of me, but, if I really think about it, I can usually draw things that I've seen just once or twice."

Mozzie smiled. "I think we're going to get along just fine, kid."

Before Nico could respond, Adam and Mina burst through the door.

"We've got to go, Moz." Adam said. "The Feds got everybody from the warehouse but Mario. Word is that he's looking for us. And we _really _don't want to be found."

"Okay, easy, Adam," said Mozzie. "Sit, breathe. Let's figure out what to do. You can't stay here, that's for sure." Mozzie thought for a minute before getting up and leaving the room.

"Nico, are you okay?" asked Mina. She eyed her friend as he sat at the table. He was pale and was favoring his left arm, but, other than that, he looked relatively okay.

Nico smiled genuinely, "I'm great." Adam raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine," Nico admitted. "My shoulder hurts like hell. But it's so much better than it could have been, so I really can't complain." Nico swallowed hard at the thought of the two, now dead, Russian girls.

Mozzie walked back into the uncomfortable silence with a duffel bag in hand. "I have a car around the corner than we can use to get out of here. We'll have to dump it once we get out of town so we aren't traced. By the way, I hope you aren't overly attached to your names." Mina looked at Mozzie with confusion in her eyes. "You'll have to shed your names if you want to lose Mario," Mozzie continued, explaining his earlier comment.

Nico shrugged. "A rose by any other name…"

Mozzie looked at him quizzically, before responding. "_Romeo and Juliet._" Adam and Mina looked at Nico with different expressions of disbelief.

"What?" Nico asked. "So I spent some free time at the library. Big deal."

"Anyway," Mozzie continued before the conversation got too off-track. "You need new names. Choose something that isn't too close to your real name, but is close enough to be easily remembered. Staring with the same consonant is usually a good idea, but pick whatever you'll remember. Once you've chosen your new names, make sure to use that name and only that name, even when you're just thinking. You have to train yourself never to respond to your old name again. Once we get to where we're going, I'll see about getting some IDs made."

Mozzie hustled everyone out of the building and down the street in the direction of his car. Nico thought he looked a bit lit a bobble head the way he kept looking around them. Nico knew Mozzie was checking to make sure they weren't being followed, but he also knew that there were less conspicuous ways of doing so.

Adam shrugged, "So, what'll it be, kids? Adam isn't my real name anyway, so I think I'll stick to that. Mario never knew my name anyway."

Nico said, "I think Nick is probably okay for me. Close to my name but different enough."

"No! That won't do!" interrupted Mina. "That's too common-sounding for you. Your middle name is Napoleone, right?"

Nico winced. He regretted letting that slip. "Yes."

"Then let's call you Neal. That's close enough to the truth. Besides, you're about the same size as Napoleon anyway!" Mina laughed as they reached Mozzie's car. The comment wasn't really that funny, but it did a lot to alleviate the tension that had been building.

Nico, no, _Neal_, smiled. "I may be short now, but one day, just like him, I'm gonna rule the world!"

The four got in the car and sped away from the city.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I really do appreciate them. I should point out that I've never been to New York, so please excuse any egregious geographical errors. **

**As always, anything you recognize isn't mine.**

Chapter Three

Present – Manhattan

"Hey, El. What's up?"

"Peter, I'm sorry, but I won't be home anytime soon. I know we planned on going out, but someone made an enormous error inventorying our stock for Mr. Gallun's charity dinner tomorrow night and I have to stay until I can get everything all worked out." Elizabeth sounded annoyed, apologetic, and angry all at the same time. Peter knew that someone at Burke Event Planning was about to have a very bad night.

"El," said Peter calmly. "Hon, it's okay. You know me, I'll just order a pizza and watch the game. You go do what you have to do and I'll be home waiting for you when you get back." Peter knew the stress his wife endured before every major event her company handled. He laughed, "Just don't hurt anyone!"

With a sardonic laugh, El said, "I can't promise that. Someone really messed up this time. I'm glad we have that bottle of Neal's merlot from dinner the other night left – I'm going to need that and a bubble bath stat when I get home!" El paused, then suggested, "Honey, speaking of Neal, why don't you call him and see if he wants to do something. I'm sure he'd be glad for the company. There's a new exhibit at the Met that I'm sure he'd like to see, especially since its out of his radius."

"I'm not sure that's how I'd like to spend my night, honey. As much as I'd be willing to take Neal somewhere, if we went to the Met, I'd never be able to take my eyes off him! I can't help it! I'd be wondering, no, _waiting_, for him to try something. Besides, I don't want to give him any more temptations. He's been good lately and I don't want to ruin that." Peter sighed. "But, as usual, you make a good point. I'm sure Neal would like to get away from June's house for a bit. And I haven't been to Moe's for a few weeks," Peter said warming to the idea of going out. "I'll call Jones and see if he wants to come too!"

El smiled into the phone. "Okay, then, have fun with the boys. I'll see you at home. Love you!"

"Love you too, hon," Peter said, glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of his wife's ire. She was nothing but steel and determination when things weren't done correctly. Peter almost felt sorry for the poor schmuck who screwed up. But he also knew that El wouldn't get worked up over a small mistake, so he knew that whoever made the error deserved whatever his wife was about to dish out.

Peter smiled; a night out with Neal would be educational if nothing else. Moe's was definitely not a place that Neal would typically go. It would be fun. _That is_, Peter thought, _if Neal lets me relax enough to enjoy myself!_ Peter did trust Neal but still had difficulty being 100% relaxed around him. They were getting there, though. Peter was getting better about reading the conman's expressions, much to his surprise and Neal's dismay. Usually Neal kept his mask up for everyone in all situations. His snarky, devil-may-care, "I'm fine, Peter," mask. Peter knew what Neal was doing, but he couldn't figure out a good way to start that particular conversation with his partner. Since Kate's death and Mozzie's near miss, Peter could see the effort it took Neal to keep that mask in place 24/7. Peter had seen Neal without his guard up only a handful of times. The first time had been on the tarmac just after Kate's plane exploded. The second time was when Neal had Fowler at gunpoint at the Russian Museum. The last time Peter had seen the cracks in Neal's façade was at the hospital waiting for news on Mozzie's condition. As much as he hated that carefully constructed mask, Peter understood that his friend couldn't let his real emotions show. It was a habit that was too deeply ingrained in the ex-con. Peter also knew that he was going to have to convince Neal to open up to him, or someone, soon. He didn't want to tear all of Neal's walls down, but Neal needed to know that he had people he could talk to if he needed to.

Peter sighed and dialed Neal's number.

_Hi! You know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Leave a message but remember that Big Brother is watching!_

Peter smiled at Neal's voicemail message and hung up. Peter waited a few minutes and dialed again. When he got Neal's voicemail again, Peter said, "Neal, I'm coming over and then we're going out. Be ready when I get there."

25 minutes later Peter pulled up in front of June's mansion on Riverside Drive. He still couldn't believe that Neal had managed to con his way into June's life so easily. Sometimes he even wondered if Neal was the one running the con – June was an exceptionally smart lady and used to be married to an equally smart conman. However it happened, Peter had to admit that June was good for Neal. She understood Neal's motivations and helped remind Neal that he could use his talents in a legitimate way. She'd lived on the other side of the law long enough for Neal to be comfortable around her and on this side of the law long enough for Peter to be sure that she wasn't going to encourage Neal to do anything stupid. Her absolutely perfect Italian Roast was another mark in her favor.

Peter left the Taurus and knocked on June's door. The housekeeper answered and informed Peter that June was out. Neal, however, was upstairs the last time she checked. Thanking her, Peter went up the stairs and knocked on the door to Neal's apartment. There was no answer, so Peter knocked again.

"Neal? Are you there?" Peter asked. Receiving no response, Peter flipped open his phone and dialed Neal's number for a third time that night. He was surprised to hear a ringing coming from behind the door.

Concerned now, Peter knocked again. "Neal? Are you okay?"

Peter tried the door and found, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He stepped into the dark apartment, his hand automatically resting on his gun. It was clear that Neal was not at home even though his phone was on the table and trademark fedora was on the hat rack.

With a growing sense of unease, Peter called the US Marshall tracking office. "This is Agent Burke, FBI. I need the location for tracking anklet 5729 Delta."

The operator said after a moment, "Agent Burke, I have that signal at 3781 Wilson St."

Peter thanked the operator and ran back to his car where he plugged the address into the GPS unit. The address turned out to be just barely inside Neal's two-mile radius and in a part of town that, while not especially dangerous, was an area that Peter never would have thought Neal would willingly go. Peter's unease grew. He really wanted to trust Neal, but he also didn't want to have to clean up any disasters that Neal might be causing. Peter decided to drive over to Wilson St. and then decide what to do, depending on where Neal was and, more importantly, who Neal was with.

A few minutes later Peter pulled up outside a seedy-looking bar. _I can't believe this is where Neal went,_ Peter thought. The place hardly looked like somewhere Neal Caffrey, lover of all fine things and not one to deny himself even the smallest luxury, would be. _Unless he's meeting someone here._ Peter thought with a grimace.

Peter started at the soft knocking on the passenger side window. He looked over to see Jones' casual smile. Peter got out of his car – he'd forgotten that he had called Jones after he called the Marshalls.

"Hey Boss," Jones said. "Didn't mean to scare you. Have to say, this isn't what I expected when you called." He said, nodding at the bar.

"It's not what I expected either," Peter said. "Neal's in there and I'm not sure what to do. I'd like to trust that he's not doing anything stupid, but it's Neal."

Jones was surprised. He'd not often heard Peter vocalize his indecision, especially when it came to Neal. Jones thought for a minute and then said, "Well, if you have a pair of binoculars, we could look in through the front window and see what he's doing."

Peter smiled at the junior agent. "What do you think I was doing before you got here? You can't see much, but I don't think there are many people in the place. There are a few guys sitting at the end of the bar, but not anyone who looks like Neal."

"Why don't we wait for a little bit to see if Neal leaves with anyone. I can't imagine he'd bring a girl here, but, if he is on a date, I don't think he'd be too happy if we crashed it."

"Good thinking," said Peter. "Let's wait over there," he said, indicating the shadows next to the building. "If he does come out with anyone, he won't see us over there." Peter felt guilty spying on his friend and for forcing Jones into this unofficial stakeout during his free time, but he was concerned about Neal.

A little more than an hour later, just as Peter was beginning to doubt his plan, a man walked out of the bar. He was wearing a short, dark-colored jacket, ratty blue jeans, old sneakers, and a baseball hat. Certainly something Neal would never be caught dead in. Still, there was something familiar, something Caffrey-esqe, about the man.

"Jones," whispered Peter, pointing at the man. "Do you think that could be Caffrey?"

The man stiffened and stopped. He looked around, face obscured by the hat and by the shadows, before staring straight into the shadows where Peter and Jones were hidden. Peter knew that his whisper wasn't loud enough to be heard from two feet away, let alone from across the street. The man stared into the shadows for a few moments more and then continued walking. Peter decided to follow him and motioned for Jones to come with him. They slunk out of the shadows and walked a few feet down the sidewalk. With a look back, the man broke into a run.

Peter shouted and took off after the running man, Jones following closely behind. If this was Caffrey, he was going to get a piece of Peter's mind when he caught him again, for the third time. And if it wasn't Caffrey, then Peter was mighty curious to know why the man had run from them.

The stranger ducked into the next alley and had vanished by the time Peter and Jones turned the corner. If they had looked up, they would have seen the man disappearing over the top of the building. But they didn't look up. Peter and Jones were just starting down the alley, guns drawn, when they heard a familiar voice behind them.

"Everything okay here?" Neal asked with a laugh. The agents whipped around in surprise, guns up and safeties off. "I didn't think alley cats and garbage bins were on the FBI watch list."

"Damnit, Neal! I almost shot you," said Jones, holstering his weapon.

Neal grinned at the agents. "I'm glad you didn't. Blood stains are so hard to get out of suits and I don't think the FBI wants to pay any more for my dry cleaning than they already do."

Peter sighed and said, "Dry cleaning wasn't part of our agreement anyway. Why am I not surprised that you conned the Bureau into paying for it."

"And I'm not surprised you're here checking up on me. Peter, it's a Saturday night! Don't be such a workaholic – it's not good for your health. I'm well within my radius." Neal countered, pulling up his left pant leg to show the green light on the tracker.

"If you hadn't left your phone at June's, Neal, I wouldn't be here. Believe me, the last thing I want to be doing on a Saturday night is chasing you all over everywhere. El's out late and I wanted to see if you wanted to join me for a drink. But nothing is ever that simple with you."

"Peter!" Neal said brightly after a moment, flashing a wide grin at the agents. "You do care!"

"I care about not getting my ass chewed out by Hughes. Which it is every time you decide to leave the reservation." Peter said grumpily. "Come on, I'll drive you back to June's, then I'm going home. Sorry for dragging you out here for nothing, Jones. I'll make it up to you."

Jones smiled and walked away with a nod to Peter and a shake of his head for Neal.

"Really, Peter, I don't mind walking," Neal said. "It's a nice night and…"

"Get in the car, Neal," Peter grumbled. "Now."

"Okay, okay," said Neal, raising his arms in mock surrender. "This is what I get for trying to be green. Peter, I'm blaming global warming on you."

Peter was silent as he started the car and pulled away from the curb. After a few blocks he asked, "What were you doing there, Neal?"

"Why, Peter? I was within my radius and not doing anything illegal."

"That's not the type of place that you normally go, Neal."

"You don't know everything about me, Peter," Neal reminded his partner. "Believe it or not, I actually do like that place. I grant you, the décor leaves much…okay, a lot, to be desired but they have absolutely fantastic Manhattans. I've been there once or twice before, go ahead and check. The bartender's name is Ray and he plays a mean _Twelfth Street Rag _on the piano. Ask him about me – I know he'll back me up." Neal's tone held an edge of hostility by the time he finished.

"I'm not going to check your story, Neal. I trust you," Peter said slowly. "I was worried. You left your phone and hat at June's. And I know you're not fine like you keep telling everyone you are. Anyone else would be a wreck considering everything that's happened in the last few months. But you just slap that fake smile on – and, yes, most of the time it is a fake smile, Neal – and act like nothing's wrong. Damnit, Neal, I'm your friend! I'm worried about you!" Peter was a little surprised at himself; he hadn't expected to say so much.

Neal was quiet until they reached June's. When Peter pulled up in front of the mansion Neal said, "I know you're worried, but I'm okay, Peter. Thanks for checking up on me. Say 'hi' to Elizabeth for me. I'll see you on Monday." With that, Neal got out of the car and let himself into June's house. Peter stared after him for a moment and then drove home.

~oOo~

Neal leaned against the door to his apartment and sighed. He knew his partner was concerned about him, but, as much as he trusted Peter, Neal wasn't ready to share everything with the FBI Agent. It was an occupational hazard that came with the territory of self-reliance.

Neal pushed himself away from the door and went to the cabinet. He pulled down two wine glasses and filled them from an already-opened bottle of Shiraz. Neal grabbed both glasses and walked out onto the patio. He set one glass on the table and walked over to the ledge, the other wine glass in hand.

A shadow detached itself from the corner and reached for the wine glass on the table.

"Neal, you always did have impeccable taste in wine," said the shadow after taking a sip.

Neal didn't turn to face his companion. "And you've always had a habit of making a scene. That was a close one, Adam. After Peter started chasing you, I wasn't sure you'd be able to slip him. You didn't do me any favors by running from them, you know. I just barely avoided a game of 20 questions on the way home. You couldn't have just quietly slipped away, could you? You had to run."

Adam smiled to himself and said, "I knew I could get away. I've always been better than you at slipping a tail."

"You wish," scoffed Neal, turning his head slightly.

"Remind me again who got caught by the FBI and who is still nothing more than a rumor in a file or two?" Adam jumped in before Neal could continue.

"That was different," said Neal, now facing Adam, anger and grief barely evident behind the words. "I needed to see Kate and…"

Adam held his hands up in surrender, "Okay, Neal, okay. I don't want get into an argument with you. Let's just drop it, alright?"

Neal stared at Adam, who was still half-hidden in the shadows. "You're right. I don't want to argue either. We did enough of that when we were younger." Neal paused. "So, are you going to tell me why you found me again after all this time? And 'because of my wine' is not an acceptable answer."

Adam smiled at Neal's directness. "Well, Neal," he said with a slight emphasis on the name. "Between the various alias's, the constant movement then the prison stay, and our last conversation, you didn't make it easy to find you."

A shadow of something flickered in Neal's eyes at Adam's mention of their last conversation, but it was gone immediately. If Neal couldn't show Peter his true emotions, he sure as hell wouldn't let Adam see them.

Adam continued, "I wanted to see you, man. It's been awhile – six or seven years at least."

"It's been ten, actually," interrupted Neal. "We were in Rome for the Botticelli. The same Botticelli, I might add, that nearly got me killed. But that's a different story, isn't it, Adam?" He turned back toward the ledge and resumed his nightly study of the city.

Adam smiled slightly and with a small wince. "Ah, yes, well I guess you have a right to still be a little touchy about that. But it really wasn't my fault! How was I supposed to know that the key would break in the lock?" He paused at Neal's arched eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Maybe that was my fault. But, hey, you got the Raphael and you aren't dead! So, it all turned out okay. By the way, do you still have it? The Botticelli, I mean?" Adam asked eagerly.

Neal stared at his old friend as if trying to decide what to say. He finally settled on, "What is it that you're really here for, Adam?"

Adam looked away and slowly shook his head. He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "No, Neal. That's not why I asked you to meet me. Mina contacted me last week," he said quietly. "She didn't say so specifically, but I think she's in trouble."

Neal's head snapped around, a look of pure shock on his face. "Mina contacted you? How? Where is she? How is she? What is she…" Neal stopped midsentence when he saw Adam's bemused look. "What?" Neal asked defensively, all eagerness vanishing from his face. "I haven't talked to her in a long time. After Geneva she said she never wanted to talk to me again."

"Geneva wasn't good for anyone, least of all Mina. But that was then and this is now. Neal, I think she needs our help." Adam didn't elaborate and Neal didn't ask for any other information. Both men stared at one another as if each were waiting for the other to make the first step toward rekindling something both had thought died a long time ago.

Finally Neal sighed and looked away. "Adam, we can't go back to how it was before Geneva. I can't. If you haven't noticed, I'm accessorizing a little differently these days." Neal pulled up his left pant leg to reveal the tracker. "Besides," he continued. "Peter doesn't give me a lot of time to myself. You might say that the leash metaphorically runs out in the middle of the street. Actually, now that I think of it, it literally does run out in the middle of the street. I couldn't have crossed Wilson Street without the Marshalls notifying Peter that I'd gone outside my radius." Neal paused. "Adam, I'll do what I can for Mina, but it won't, it _can't_, be like old times. I can't get set back to prison. _I won't_ get set back to prison."

"Fine, Neal, fine. It's not like we're planning a major score here. I know you have certain…limitations…now. I don't have all the details yet, but I'll do all the heavy lifting when the time times. I just want to know that you'll have my back."

"Get me the details, Adam. Then let's talk about who's going to do what. Mozzie will do what he can to help and I could probably try to use some FBI resources if it came to that."

Adam set his now empty glass on the table with a smile. "I knew I could count on you, Neal."

"That's what friends are for, isn't it? Give my love to Mina when you see her next. And tell her…" he thought for a moment. "Tell her that I think I've finally found my Mona Lisa. She'll know what I mean," Neal said in a tone that invited no questions.

Adam shook his head, gave Neal a small salute, and faded back into the shadows.

Neal poured himself another glass of wine and resumed his study of Manhattan's nightlife, thoughts far away.


End file.
